


Strange Attractors

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-02
Updated: 2005-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Of all the things he'd wanted but been sure he'd never get, John Sheppard was at the top of the list.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Attractors

**Author's Note:**

> This is a darker take on the scenario I wrote in [Icing on the Cake](http://archiveofourown.org/works/116713). You should probably read _Icing_ first, if only so the set-up makes sense to you, as this is more of an alternate reality branching off that story than anything else.
> 
> Thanks to Cathexys for her mad beta skillz, and for not letting me get away with being lazy.

**attractor** _n._  
 _Physics._ A set of physical properties toward which a system tends to evolve, regardless of the starting conditions of the system.

 **strange attractor** _n._  
 _Physics._ An attractor for which the approach to the final set of physical properties is chaotic.

~ * ~ * ~

Carson hadn't been gone from Rodney's room for more than five minutes when someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?" Rodney asked, irritated to realize that he sounded nervous.

Sheppard's voice came through the door. "It's just me, McKay. I've got your scanner."

Rodney opened the door and nodded to the marine who stood guard outside. Sheppard stepped past him into the room and the doors barely had time to slide shut before Rodney was—for the _fourth_ time today—pinned to the wall by someone intent on feeling him up like he was a ripe cantaloupe.

He knew he probably shouldn't have let Sheppard into his room in the first place, but he'd never seen any indication that the man was that way inclined. Well, okay, maybe some of the things he said to Rodney sounded a little like flirting, and maybe some of the looks felt a little like being checked out, but there'd never been anything _overt_.

Right, because Major John Sheppard, USAF, could afford to be overtly interested in another man.

"Major, I—" He tried to object, really he did. He even tried briefly to push Sheppard away, because he _knew_ it wasn't fair to take advantage of someone who obviously couldn't help himself. He'd been too surprised by Teyla's actions—and too worried about hurting her because she was a woman, which was probably incredibly sexist of him, but there you were—to effectively stop her, but he really should shout for the guard who was standing just outside the door, or even pull his weapon like he had with Peter. He should.

But then Sheppard looked at him, eyes dark with arousal, and whispered, "Fuck me, McKay," as he ground his erection into Rodney's hip, and rational thought shut down. The scanner dropped to the floor and he couldn't even bring himself to care; one of Sheppard's hands was cupped along his jaw and the other was pressing against his hardening cock, and his brain cells were shorting out left and right.

"Um, yeah, okay," Rodney mumbled against Sheppard's lips, his fingers fumbling with his belt and pants, "I can do that. God, yes, I can do that."

Sheppard slid to his knees and mouthed Rodney's erection through his boxers, fingers deftly working the fastenings of Rodney's thigh-holster as Rodney shrugged out of his jacket and tugged his shirt over his head.

Of all the things he'd wanted but been sure he'd never get, John Sheppard was at the top of the list.

~ * ~ * ~

McKay was stretched out on his back, and judging from the quiet, rhythmic almost-snores, he was asleep. John's thumb caressed the side of McKay's neck, skimming lightly over bruised flesh that he was pretty sure wasn't his doing. Everything seemed just the slightest bit surreal, like a movie shot through a vaseline-smeared lens, and while he'd taken that for granted before, now the whole thing was beginning to feel a little bit...off.

It was kind of like coming down from a warm, fuzzy high—not that John would ever make that comparison out loud, because some experiences were kind of frowned on when you were in the military. Like, for instance, taking it up the ass. The movement of his thumb stilled as memories of the past half hour flooded back in vivid technicolor, now complete with rational thought processes attached instead of whatever insanity had passed for thinking the first time around.

He was dressed and stepping out McKay's door in under two minutes, leaving McKay still peacefully snoring. A quick nod at the guard—John hoped they'd been quiet enough not to attract unwanted speculation, but he couldn't bring himself to look too hard at Jones's expression—and then he was heading toward his quarters, his heart pounding and his breath coming too quick.

It had been stupid to go to McKay's room. He'd known there was something weird going on, had been told that McKay had been attacked first by Teyla and then by Elizabeth, but it hadn't occurred to him that he'd be affected by McKay's inexplicable new mojo. After all, he was a _guy_.

Clicking his radio on as he walked, he said, "Dr. Beckett?" While he waited for Beckett's response, he tried desperately to think about something other than the hard curve of McKay's erection against his cheek or the way McKay's hands had trembled as they'd skimmed over his hips.

"Aye, Major? I assume you're after an update on Rodney's condition?" And was it just John's imagination, or was there a hint of _knowing_ in Beckett's tone, some tiny indication that John's secret wasn't so secret after all.

Shaking his head, he decided that he must be getting paranoid. "Yeah. What can you tell me?" _Explain to me, Doctor, what the hell just happened._

There was a pause, and then Beckett said, "I'd prefer you come to the infirmary. It's a wee bit more private."

John made the detour, his body on autopilot as his mind kept dredging up things he'd much rather forget, like the way McKay's breath hitched when John's mouth closed on his dick or the bright, almost pained look in McKay's eyes as he'd slowly slid home inside John. By the time John made it to the infirmary, he had to stop and take a deep breath before stepping inside.

"What's going on?" He knew he was being abrupt, but he hoped Beckett would take it as worry. Stuffing his hands into his pockets to cover the fact that they were shaking, he leaned casually against the wall and listened as Beckett explained the tests they'd run on McKay's blood and the lack of any definitive results. Nodding, he acknowledged the wisdom of Elizabeth's decision to send Teyla and Ford back to Takur to see if they could find anything out. "So, it was the drink," he said once Beckett had finished speaking.

"It would seem so. Based on the sample Teyla and the lieutenant brought back, it appears to contain a chemical compound that stimulates the production of androstadienone or AND." At John's frown, he continued, "It's a human pheromone. Near as I can tell, the drink increases the production of AND at least tenfold, making anyone who consumes it virtually irresistible to...well, to anyone who fancies men, in point of fact."

Right. "Will Teyla and Elizabeth be okay?" he asked, making no effort to hide his concern.

"Yes, they're quite all right," Beckett assured him. "I assume there will be nothing about Sergeant Stackhouse in the official reports?"

"Stackhouse?" John repeated blankly, and he saw a brief panicked look cross Beckett's face—a look he remembered very clearly from Antarctica, when Beckett had realized he'd been spilling Top Secret information to someone who most likely didn't have the appropriate clearance.

"Um...." Beckett paled. "I shouldn't have said anything, Major. Please—"

No way was John going to let that go, though. He shook his head. "Carson," he said, lowering his voice to make sure they weren't overheard, "you know me. I'm not going to hold that kind of thing against anyone. I need to know, though, who might have been affected by this. Please?"

He could almost see Beckett's internal battle. Finally, one side seemed to win out and Beckett said, "The only others who came into contact with Rodney and were unduly influenced were Peter Grodin and Anthony Stackhouse."

Grodin and Stackhouse, huh? John never would have guessed. "How are they?" he asked, ignoring the knot in his stomach.

"Sergeant Stackhouse will be fine—Lieutenant Ford was present and subdued him immediately—but I think Peter was more than a little traumatized by the way Rodney indicated his, um, lack of interest." John didn't say anything, but merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Beckett flashed a pained smile, "A gun barrel held to his bollocks."

"Can't argue with that," John said, the idea making his balls want to crawl up inside his body. "Can you make some kind of antidote? I'm going to need McKay in the field and if he's an irresistible sex god, that's going to make off-world missions a little rough." It was easier than he thought it would be to make the joke, to smirk like it didn't really matter, even when the thought of not being able to be near McKay without being out of control scared the hell out of him.

"No need, Major." Beckett wore one of his patented reassuring smiles. "According to the Takuran elders, it should have worn off by now. I'd like to be certain, though, before I risk exposing him to the general population of Atlantis. For his own safety, of course." Of course. Because it wasn't like anyone else could get hurt from being exposed to an irresistible sex god who was completely morality-free.

John nodded. "Do whatever you need to, Doc. Once you've cleared him, you can let Jonesy know he doesn't need to guard McKay's quarters anymore."

He managed not to think about anything at all on the way back to his quarters. For instance, he absolutely did not think about McKay's strong, square fingers wrapped around his dick, nor about the surprised 'O' of McKay's mouth when he came.

One thing you could say for the Ancients: they understood the importance of an unlimited supply of hot water. John stood in the shower, the temperature just shy of scalding and the pressure turned up as high as it would go, and tried to let the heat seep into him and leach out everything that felt wrong.

It was too easy to remember the details, though; every time he moved, the faint burn of his ass reminded him of what McKay had done to him. What he'd _wanted_ McKay to do to him, he tried to remind himself, but the memories washed over him and he couldn't forget how out of control he'd been. He couldn't have said no if he'd wanted to.

And that was something he had to face, too. It wasn't that he hadn't been interested in McKay; he had. Interested enough to have had sex with him, even, had the right situation presented itself. It was just that he'd like to have had a _choice_ in the matter. He'd like to feel less...violated. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the shower, but it didn't matter because he was pretty sure he wasn't going to feel clean even if he stayed in there for a week.

He'd never thought much about rape; it was something that guys who weren't him—guys whose motivations he really could not even begin to understand—did to _women_. And yeah, rape was a terrible thing, but it was an abstract. It didn't affect him in any meaningful way, and he really hadn't wanted that to change. Now he was edgy and his skin didn't fit right anymore and he suspected he might just deck the first person to look at him funny; unless he wanted to end up strapped down and sedated in the infirmary, he really needed to get his shit together before the debriefing.

He was buckling up his thigh holster when there was a knock at his door, and without even looking he was pretty sure he knew who it was. Much as he'd like to not deal with the situation, he was also pretty sure McKay wouldn't leave without talking to him. Because that's how McKay was—an arrogant jerk who wanted his own way and didn't give a shit about what anyone else wanted.

John let him in.

McKay stepped past him and let the doors slide shut. "Major, I wanted to talk to you before—"

Frustration and anger and something that felt an awful lot like self-loathing welled up in him and he just let it spill over, let it pour out of his mouth in a torrent of biting sarcasm that he hoped would do some damage to McKay's over-inflated ego. "Listen, Rodney—I can call you Rodney, can't I? Because once a guy's had his dick up your ass," he spat out, "it seems kind of silly to stand on ceremony—"

That seemed to throw McKay off his stride. "What?"

"You do remember the sex, right?" John said pointedly. "You know, the part where you fucked me while I was under the influence of a libido-altering substance, not to mention _out of my mind_? I'd hate to think an experience that made such an impression on me was so forgettable for you."

"I'm sorry, okay?" McKay was almost in his face, obviously trying to keep his anger in check. Well good for him, but he wasn't the one who had a right to be angry.

"That's all you have to say?" John knew he was nearly shouting now, but he really didn't care. "You're fucking _sorry_?" Like McKay had taken the last donut at breakfast, or maybe scratched a CD John had loaned him. No, apologizing wasn't even close to making up for what McKay had done.

"Look," McKay said, backing down just a little, "you may not have noticed, but I don't exactly have people breaking down my door for a chance to sleep with me. Do you know how hard it is to turn down a very hot, very _determined_ guy who's throwing himself at you?"

"You managed it with everyone else," John said scornfully. "Are you going to tell me that Stackhouse and Grodin were any less determined than I was?" Hell, McKay had pulled a _gun_ on Grodin to stop him, but John...well, John he was apparently happy to take advantage of.

"Not really, no," McKay said, and his voice was more subdued now.

John leaned in closer, choosing his words carefully for maximum impact. "So you picked me to rape. I feel so...special." He watched as the realization dawned on McKay's face.

And then suddenly John just couldn't do this anymore; it was too soon and he was too angry and too tempted to just pull out his sidearm and shoot McKay—and not in the leg this time. Instead, he turned and walked away, out of his quarters and toward the conference room, ignoring McKay's voice calling out behind him.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney was never again going to eat or drink anything not from Atlantis's stores while off-world. He didn't care if he offended the natives or had a hypoglycemic reaction or died of starvation or dehydration, none of the potential repercussions could be worse than this.

At first it had seemed so unfair that Sheppard would blame him, would be angry at him for what had happened. He'd been a victim, too, with people assaulting him left and right, and Sheppard hadn't given a damn about that. It really hadn't occurred to him that what he'd done could be interpreted as rape; Sheppard had _asked_ him to, in words and touches that had come close to destroying him.

But it really didn't matter whether or not he felt he'd done anything wrong—or even if part of him still thought it wasn't entirely his fault. What mattered was that he'd alienated the one person whose friendship meant the most to him, and he'd do anything he had to in order to make amends and to erase the hurt and anger he'd seen in Sheppard's eyes.

The debriefing was uncomfortable, to say the least. Rodney found he could only look Ford and Carson in the eye, and everyone seemed intent on tiptoeing around the subject until Elizabeth finally put her foot down and insisted that everything would be off the record but that they had to actually fulfill the purpose of the meeting.

Rodney gave a brief and—he hoped—unemotional account of the events on the planet and on his return to Atlantis, stopping his narration at the point where Carson had left him alone in his room.

"When I got back from Takur, I went to McKay's quarters to give him his scanner," Sheppard interjected, and Rodney looked up at him, surprised.

"I take it you were unaffected by Dr. McKay's pheromones." Somehow Elizabeth made the sentence sound far less silly than it should have.

Sheppard's gaze met Rodney's. "Completely unaffected," Sheppard said, the lie tripping off his tongue so credibly that for a moment Rodney could almost believe everything he remembered had been some kind of delusion. "I stuck around for about half an hour to keep McKay company," Sheppard continued, his casual sprawl reinforcing the impression of honesty, "and then I checked in with Beckett to see if he had any news."

Beckett gave the same explanation of the phenomenon that he'd given to Rodney when he'd showed up in Rodney's room with a blushing nurse in tow, and then they all looked uncomfortably around the conference table at one another until Elizabeth declared the debriefing complete.

Sheppard headed for the jumper bay and Rodney followed, unsure what exactly he planned to say but knowing that he needed to try. They reached the ramp of the nearest jumper before Sheppard turned to face Rodney, arms crossed over his chest and looking like the fact that Rodney was breathing was testing his patience.

"I'm sorry," Rodney said, putting every bit of sincerity he could into it, even though he knew it probably wasn't enough.

Sheppard raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. "Sorry?" he said, and for a second Rodney thought they were going to repeat the shouting match they'd had in Sheppard's room, but then Sheppard just shook his head. "It's not enough. Nowhere near enough."

"I honestly thought it was what you wanted," and Sheppard looked like he was going to interrupt, but Rodney held up a hand to forestall him and pushed on anyway, needing to get this all out in the open before everything went critical again, "but it doesn't matter what I thought. What matters is that you're my friend. Or you were, at least, and I want you to be again. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

Another shake of the head, and this time Sheppard's voice was harsh, his tone tinged with finality. "There's nothing you can do, McKay. This isn't some physics problem that you can solve by plugging in the correct equations."

Sheppard was right. Rodney didn't want to admit it, not really, because that would mean giving up, and Rodney wasn't so big on giving up anymore. If there was one thing he was learning from the Pegasus galaxy it was perseverance in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. Still, he'd done all he could for the moment.

"If you think of anything I can do, let me know," he said, turning toward the doors and making it two steps before he felt the need to look back at Sheppard and add, "Anything at all."

~ * ~ * ~

John pulled a box of MREs from the webbing in the back of the jumper and lobbed it across the bay, watching with satisfaction as the brown packages scattered when the plastic container hit the wall. He couldn't believe how angry McKay could make him; the man was unbelievably arrogant and self-absorbed, making excuses for his actions at the same time as he was making apologies.

McKay had thought he'd wanted it?

He turned to grab something else to throw, then stopped as he realized that the noise would draw attention he didn't really want. Not to mention he'd probably end up being the one who had to clean up the mess, and wasn't that just a perfect metaphor for his life? Instead, he leaned back against the bulkhead and slid to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling his knees up to his chest.

McKay had no idea what John felt, or wanted, or thought.

He had felt out of control, felt helpless even now, and he hated it. He hated that McKay had made him feel that way, and hated even more that the feeling hadn't gone away once he was no longer under the influence of McKay's overactive biology.

He wanted it all to be over. He wanted it to have never happened. He wanted to be sure the team would function smoothly on the next off-world mission. He wanted to hurt McKay, and he desperately wanted to stop wanting that.

He thought about McKay's offer, trying to imagine what kind of penance he could extract that would make him feel better, would even the score between them so John could stop feeling and wanting and thinking quite so much.

A little word association took him from 'penance' to 'an eye for an eye,' and if it occurred to him that this was a way he could hurt McKay without actually hurting him...well, he didn't think about that too much.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney spent the rest of the day in his lab, trying to lose himself in the backlog of projects. He'd done everything possible to apologize, made his position clear, and now he could only give Sheppard some space and try to pretend everything was normal. He resigned himself to waiting a week or so for Sheppard to calm down and be ready to talk.

Which was why he was surprised when he returned to his room some time after midnight and found Sheppard there, stretched out casually on his bed and reading _War and Peace_. "Major—" he started, but Sheppard gave him a hard look and he shut his mouth, ignoring the way something in his gut twisted. Because this was what he'd wanted, wasn't it—a chance to apologize, to make things right? A chance to erase that haunted look in Sheppard's eyes that made his chest ache?

Sheppard closed the book and stood up. "Take off your clothes, Rodney," he said and his voice was cold, his use of Rodney's first name oddly impersonal. "And don't talk."

Rodney stripped silently.

He knew the drill, had played the game a couple of times with a girlfriend in grad school and found that he was actively turned off by it. Not that his state of arousal mattered at the moment; what mattered was earning back Sheppard's trust and friendship. He kept his gaze on the ground and waited for Sheppard's next order.

"Lie down on your stomach on the bed."

Not sure how much patience Sheppard had and not willing to risk it running out, Rodney detoured only long enough to pull out the drawer of his nightstand to reveal a bottle of lube. Face down on the bed, he could hear the quiet sounds of Sheppard removing his own clothing and he resisted the urge to turn his head and watch. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on keeping his breathing calm and even as he waited for what he was fairly certain was coming next.

Sheppard's hands were unhurried and thorough, but there was no tenderness in the slick fingers that worked their way inside him, loosened him just enough to prevent damage. And when Sheppard pulled Rodney's hips up and guided himself in, the touch was clinical and emotionless, the thrusting almost silent but for the soft sound of flesh on flesh. He recognized Sheppard's climax by the drawn-out stillness, half a dozen heartbeats where Rodney could simply feel him—unmoving—inside him. Then Sheppard pulled away and he was empty, bereft, and it didn't matter that the game didn't arouse him because Sheppard's hands had never strayed anywhere incriminating.

"You can get up and shower after I'm gone." The words were accompanied by the susurration of cloth against skin, the rasp of zippers, and the snap of plastic buckles.

As the doors slid closed with a tiny mechanical sigh, Rodney thought maybe he felt something inside his chest break apart.

John—and Rodney could think of him as John, now, couldn't he, by John's own rules?—came back the next night, and the night after that, and his touches were always the same but every time he left he took something away with him, something intangible from inside Rodney, until Rodney was sure that by the end of the week he'd be a hollow shell.

This was what he had wanted, wasn't it—a chance to apologize, to make things right?

~ * ~ * ~

John hadn't exactly been avoiding Teyla, but he hadn't been seeking out her company this past week, either. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was because he was afraid to look into her eyes and see his own anger and pain reflected there.

So even though he hadn't been avoiding her, when she sat down beside him on the balcony he still had the urge to find some excuse, something urgent he had to do. Instead, he played the role of a good leader, asking her how she was doing.

"I am well, Major," she answered, and her smile was honest and open and hard for him to disbelieve.

He tried anyway. "Are you sure? You and McKay getting along okay and everything?"

Now she was puzzled, tilting her head to the side the way she did when he talked about Earth things she didn't understand. "Why would we not?"

"Well, it's just that he...." John waved a hand in the air in a gesture that meant nothing except that he really didn't want to finish the sentence. Teyla was still looking curiously at him, so he made an effort and pulled the words together, "...he kind of attacked you and everything. I'm not sure how your people feel about it, but on Earth when a woman is forced to have sex, we think it's a really bad thing."

Her frown deepened and he wondered if maybe this was one of those cultural things where they were just too far apart to see each others' perspectives, but then she asked, "Do your people not feel the same when it is a man who is forced?"

That brought him up short, and for one panicked second he thought that she somehow _knew_ what had happened to him. But she couldn't possibly know, and so he tried to steady his breathing. "Well, yeah, but that doesn't happen very often. It's...well, it's one of the bad things about our culture—the fact that women are the ones who usually get victimized."

She nodded. "I am not uncomfortable in Dr. McKay's presence, nor do I believe he harbors any ill feelings toward me as a result of my assault upon him. Though," she paused thoughtfully, "he does seem more subdued of late."

"What?" At first John thought maybe he'd heard wrong, but when he replayed her statement in his head it stayed the same. "Why would McKay be upset at you?"

Now Teyla was staring at him and he felt like he'd missed something really important but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was. The lines on her forehead deepened, and she said, "I forced him to have sex, Major, very much against his will, I am afraid."

"But...." _That's not your fault,_ he wanted to say. _You're the victim here._

She shook her head sadly. "I suspect that your culture's bias against harming females prevented him from defending himself more effectively."

"Or maybe he was just enjoying it and didn't want you to stop," John said, appalled at himself even as the words came out of his mouth.

But Teyla seemed to take him seriously, considering the suggestion in earnest and staring out over the balcony railing as though she could find an answer in the middle of the ocean. "No," she said at last, "I think it may have been physically pleasurable for him, but he did not enjoy the experience. He is a good man; he would not find enjoyment in the debasement of another."

And that stopped John short, because Teyla was usually a very good judge of character. Of course, she was probably being influenced by her guilt at what she felt she'd done to McKay; then again, John was probably being influenced by his anger at what he felt McKay had done to him, so where was the objective truth in this whole, fucked-up situation?

"I am glad that Dr. McKay and I have been able to remain on good terms, despite everything," Teyla said as she stood. "I think perhaps he does not have many friends."

John stayed out on the balcony alone for a long time, thinking about the things Teyla had said and the things she probably felt hadn't needed saying. This time when the memories started to flow over him he didn't try to stop them, but instead tried to experience them without the haze of fear and anger.

There had been desire and urgency and McKay's hands trembling with need—or maybe it was something else, something John couldn't even begin to speculate on—but underneath it all was a tenderness that John hadn't let himself see before. McKay had looked at him and touched him with something like awe and reverence, and had made love to him like the opportunity was a rare and precious gift.

And though that knowledge didn't completely wash away his anger, it made him realize that McKay was only human, and it made him wonder how he would have reacted in the same situation. He'd like to think he would've been able to turn everyone away, but that was easy enough to say; it was much harder to actually do it when the time came. The reality was that he'd never know what he would've done in McKay's place.

The only thing he was sure about was that he'd never have let someone do to him what he'd been doing to McKay for the past week. And McKay had put up with it without a single word of complaint; what that said about how badly McKay wanted to earn back John's friendship was terrifying.

What it said about the kind of jerk John was...well, that was another kind of terrifying, and John would much rather just not think about that at the moment.

Actually, all he really wanted to do right now was talk to McKay, get in his own apology and see if maybe they could still salvage something of the friendship they'd had. He wasn't sure he was ready to think about anything beyond that point, but he felt immeasurably better just having made that small decision.

McKay wasn't in the lab and he wasn't in the mess hall. John checked his watch and decided it was late enough that McKay's quarters might be a reasonable possibility. He knocked on the door, taking slow and even breaths as he waited for some response.

When the door slid open, he stood for a moment, too stunned to speak or move. McKay looked like hell, his rumpled uniform giving every indication of having been slept in, though the bruise-colored smudges under his eyes said he hadn't slept at all lately.

"Rodney?" John finally managed.

McKay froze in the doorway, then his gaze dropped to the ground and he backed up a step to let John in, every line of his body betraying his submission, and suddenly John knew it had been a really bad idea to try to do this here.

Or maybe not. After all, this was where the whole screwed up mess had started, and where John had compounded the problem, so maybe here was also where they could start to make it better.

John stepped in, moving purposefully into McKay's space, afraid and determined in equal measure. When McKay—Rodney—still didn't look up at him, John reached out and tilted his face up, then slowly leaned in for a kiss, giving him every opportunity to pull away. He didn't, but he didn't return the kiss, either; he simply stood stiffly in front of John, eyes closed and body tense.

It was all wrong, but John didn't know how to fix it. He'd wanted Rodney to know how he'd felt—used, violated—and Rodney had offered, said he'd do _anything_ , but John hadn't wanted this, not really.

"Rodney?" he said again, and he didn't care that it sounded like begging. He reached out and cupped his hand around Rodney's neck, running his thumb along the edge of Rodney's jaw.

Rodney shook his head, then finally opened his eyes, his gaze sliding quickly off John's face and then down to the floor. "I don't think I can, John," he said softly. "Not right now, not if I have a choice."

John wanted to throw things again, because this was supposed to make it better but it wasn't working. He'd made a stupid fucking mistake.... And that was really the point, wasn't it? They'd both made stupid fucking mistakes, only he hadn't been willing to forgive Rodney's without punishing him first.

He wrapped his arms around Rodney, hating the lack of resistance, hating the passivity, and hating that he was the one responsible for it. "I'm sorry," he breathed against Rodney's neck. "I'm sorry."

Slowly Rodney's arms came up around him, hands tentative and light on his back like John was going to break, or maybe explode, and the gesture wasn't much.

It was just everything.


End file.
